


Make Hay While the Sun Shines

by maryfic



Category: Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingalls Wilder
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mpreg, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cap is a definite distraction to the goal of farming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pure Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weatherfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatherfront/gifts).



> Written in celebration of the Capmanzo fandom - inspired by [this](http://weatherfront.livejournal.com/10111.html) post on LJ by Weatherfront. 
> 
> Will involve - *cough* horse-adjacent mpreg in later chapters. 
> 
> And $300 fillies.

Almanzo couldn’t quite figure out what he and Cap were doing. After he’d settled his own claim, and Cap finished school, they’d moved out – way out, past the Big Slough, past the lake, past the loop where he’d taken those ill-advised drives with Laura to break the new team.

Royal stayed where he was happiest – in town, being a merchant, bringing in more than enough money to cover seed for the bad years, when the land didn’t magically provide after his and Cap’s hard work. Well, his. Cap did less of the heavy lifting, but he was thinner than Manzo and a little weaker after the long winter. Strength returned, but it was slow in coming. The cheerful, teasing boy was growing into man who enjoyed quieter things – unless they were alone, and then he came alive. Under Manzo’s hands, his mouth, his teeth. Bruising flesh that tanned in the summer and bleached out in the winter; what they did was no one’s business, maybe not even their own.

It was summer now, hot and sticky. He drove more loads of hay into the barn than he could count, and got hay in more places than he wanted to think about when Cap ambushed him in the field and pushed him into a haystack, warm and sweet smelling.

Like Cap. Manzo’s hands, rough from driving the plow or hell, just being  a farmer, scraped against Cap’s stomach as he pulled apart leather and let the heavy metal of the buckle hang as he slid his hand inside the woolen drawers Florence had made them both.

The blond let his head fall back as Manzo captured his mouth, teasing, licking it open, tasting the maple syrup from pancakes eaten hours earlier, and the smoky bitter of a cigar that made him moan a little and squeeze the hard flesh in his hand enough to make Cap arch in response.

“God, Manzo, your hand feels so good,” he murmured, eyes as heavy with passion as what lay thick between Almanzo’s thighs. He enjoyed this, more than farming, more than driving a good team. When he drove Cap to limitless, frustrated pleasure. His hand, slickened now with sweat and Cap himself, began to move faster, rougher. His own need built to the breaking point and he released the other, smaller man, yanking him down to the rough earth beneath them and settling him on his knees. He slid a hand down Cap’s back, pressing his head down and the full press of his ass upwards. A quick yank gave him access, and his finger pressed against Cap’s hole with the answering moan and shove told him that Cap wanted it just as much as he did.

Manzo grinned, seeing his lover like that, spread and wanting for him, only made his cock harder. He used one hand on his belt, the other in his back pocket. The grease had been given to him by an oil rig worker he’d met the summer before. They’d used it for healing cuts. Heaven knew what they would think if they could see Manzo now, sliding a glob of the thick jelly down the split in Cap, teasing the entrance to the other’s body until he got the reaction he wanted.

Cap slid his legs apart and groaned. “Dammit, Manzo, put something in me already!” His hips worked, thrusting up and down as Almanzo took great, long, strokes of his cock, pulling on the sac beneath and hissing as he manipulated his balls, thinking of how deep he was going to be inside the blond soon.

But Cap knew the rules, and he kept his hips up far enough to keep his cock unstimulated. As much as Almanzo loved striping that flesh with the long lash of his belt or whip, one made hay while the sun shone. And this was still haymaking time.

Suddenly Cap cried out and nearly lost his balance as Manzo pressed into him with two thick fingers, breaching him and crooking so that stars burst behind his eyes and the world went white. When sense returned, he could feel Manzo’s fingers thrusting hurriedly, opening him for the blunt cock that was already pushing past the tightness.

He’d not been prepared enough and he knew it, but Cap relished the small flashes of pain as his lover shoved his way inside, not caring to be gentle. He just held Cap down and forced himself balls deep before sliding out with a broken sound of pleasure.

“Cap, fuck, fuck me,” Manzo ordered, releasing the young man’s hips and steadying himself for the powerful shoves as Cap obeyed, using what little leverage he had to thrust and pump backwards until Almanzo’s control snapped and he dug his fingers into the lean body and pounded inside, his own hips snapping back and forth, sawing in a white hot mounting of need until it exploded and he pressed deep inside, jerking as he found release inside the other man’s ass.

Grunting, he pulled out and dropped beside Cap, throwing a hand over his eyes to catch his breath. A pained whimper drew his attention and he shifted to his side to eye his lover, kneeling before him, eyes lowered respectfully and cock red and aching.

He smiled and said in a low drawl, “Cap, do you want to come?”

“God, Manzo, please, please,” Cap begged, his hands still at his sides, trembling.

“Show me. Use your hands,” he ordered, and before he could finish speaking, Cap had himself in hand and was rubbing and pulling, short, harsh strokes meant to push him over the edge swiftly and he came in white globs over his hand and chest, panting for breath as he performed in the waning afternoon sunlight.

“Good boy,” Almanzo said, trailing a finger though Cap’s emission and tasting it. “Looks like the whole afternoon is gone, “ he chastised.  
  
Cap grinned beside him. Completely unrepentant, he replied. “We could go to the creek.”

The reply was lost as Almanzo pulled him close and thrust his tongue inside that insouciant mouth.


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cap recalls what might be the most embarrassing thing he's ever done, and Almanzo makes the yearly trip back to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not even sorry. Cap's recollection is verbatim from Ifrit's story.

Harvest had come and gone and the house Manly and Cap had sweated and hammered over all summer was chinked solid and snug, warmer than any claim shanty either had lived in as they made their way towards each other, and Dakota Territory. Both had lived in finer houses, to be sure, back east, but none more of a home to either. 

Cap was squatting in front of the fire, carving a long length of chain for Royal. He was no great shakes at carving or working with wood, that was more Almanzo – but Royal needed the piece for Manzo’s birthday gift, and so the blond man was glad to lend a hand during the quiet winter hours. With the fire stoked, a thick piece of ham smoking out back, and the animals sheltered for the day, let the wind howl, he thought. Nothing could be as bad as the long winter, god willing, Cap thought. Let the damned wind howl. 

Besides, carving was more to his liking than the endless list of “indoor chores” as they called them to avoid mentioning the fact that most of the woman chores fell to Cap. Oh, Manzo did his share, but it was something they actively didn't talk about. 

His knife scraped easily over the soft wood, curling long pieces between his feet as he took a moment to reflect the last tryst they’d had in the barn before Manzo had gone with Royal back to Malone to visit Eliza Jane and their parents. Asking Cap to go had been automatic, as had his own refusal. He had Florence here, and had no desire to hide himself away, figuratively, at least, for the two week-long visit. 

Blushing, his words rang in his ears again. 

_“MANLY, I WANT TO BEAR YOUR CHILDREN,” shouted Cap._

_“IMPREGNATE ME WITH STURDY FILLIES WE CAN BREED FOR A YEAR OR TWO AND SELL OUT EAST AT THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS APIECE--”_

And Almanzo had exploded inside him, losing control like he never had before, pumping into Cap, pulling his head back and setting teeth into the arched, milk white throat working as Cap struggled for air through his own climax. 

Sweating and gasping, they’d separated and he’d taken the bag of candy to the schoolhouse on jelly legs, and Manzo hadn’t brought up what he’d said again. Ridiculous, the idea of bearing his lover’s children – he’d not the ideal anatomy, for one thing, and for two, he’d suggested fillies for goodness sake. Laughing at the absurdity, Cap put the wood away for another time, but couldn't quite ignore or wish away the surge low in his belly at the idea of children – human children, he emphasized, which was almost as idiotic as horses.

***

Malone, New York

It was late. The fire was banked, and Almanzo almost felt nine years old again, with popcorn and cider in the warm living room. His father’s pipe made the air smell companionable, but there was an odd feeling between them. His mother had long gone upstairs, and Royal followed, used to being a shopkeeper, the farm chores had worn him out and Manzo had laughed at him. 

But now he was alone with the patriarch of the Wilder clan, and there was something pressing between them that he was afraid to breech. So he waited, and wish for a cold glass of milk instead of cider to fill with his popcorn. Nine or twenty-nine, it would always be a favorite. 

The tall grandfather clock that had stood in the hallway as long as Almanzo could remember chimed and he counted. Midnight. Father rose. “Time to go and tend the cattle, son.” He nodded and followed, curious as to what would happen in the frozen world outside – besides the bawling cattle, of course. He bundled himself up well and laced his boots. By the time he was in the yard, his father had been breaking the layers of ice that had formed and was making the young cattle run in the cold air, warming their blood so they didn’t freeze to death. This too, was familiar to him and he fell easily into the work, his own skin heating as he ran with the animals. 

The silence between them was driving him crazy, but his patience had been tested by colts and so he waited until they had breached the Big Barn’s quiet, warm interior and was about to speak when he heard, “You didn’t bring that boy.” 

“Cap. His name is Cap Garland.” Though he figured his father knew this, what else could he say? 

“Figure he thinks he isn't welcome here.” The words were slow, but deliberate. 

Almanzo about fell over on the barn floor. He got a look as his only response. “There are some things that just aren't done, Father.” 

“But you’re doing them.” 

“I –“ What could he say? “Yes, sir.” 

“We Wilder men, we’re good with horses,” he said, out of the blue, his heavy boots slowing as they came to a stop in front of this year’s crop of three-year-olds. Allowed to touch, Manzo still didn't, it was too well ingrained in him. “There’re some good reasons for that, son. We’re not like other men.” 

“No, sir.” Not better, just different. He’d learned that lesson at his father’s knee, learned that no man was better than another, no work was better. It was what allowed Royal to come from farmers and become a shopkeeper, and part of what allowed Manzo to be with Cap. Really be with him and make a life, not just take what he wanted from the boy and move on, like some did. He’d met them, out in the wilderness, driven there by their own desires and other people’s prejudices. He’d also been to cities and towns that were havens for people with such proclivities, and he’d thought about going there with Cap. But he loved their farm, and De Smet, so he stayed on. But he did wonder what his father was on about. 

“You ever wonder why we’re good with horses, Manzo?” 

“Figured it was a gift, sir.” 

His father nodded and turned into the tack room. He lit a lantern and took a saddle down from the wall to repair it, straddling a long bench. He nodded to Manzo to do the same, and in the quiet, Almanzo heard things about his family he’d never heard whispers of before. 

“Some things come along with such a gift. We’re good horse breeders, it’s true. And no Wilder horse will ever steer you wrong. But for some of us, that breeding gets problematic.”

He rubbed the leather and looked up, quizzical. “What sorts of problems?” 

Beating around the bush was not a family trait, but Almanzo really did fall off the bench at James’ next words. “You could breed Cap like a fine mare if you aren't careful.”


End file.
